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"Oh." Mommy smiled. "Go on, Jefferson. Get dressed for breakfast."
"I'm a pirate," he announced, raising his arm as if he held a sword. "Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum," he cried and charged out. Mommy laughed and then turned to me and smiled.
"Happy birthday, honey," she said and came over to give me a kiss and a hug. "This is going to be a wonderful day." I could see the brightness and happiness in her eyes. The flood of color in her face made her look as beautiful as the models who stared out of the pages of fashion magazines.
"Thank you, Mommy."
"Daddy's showering and getting dressed. He wants us to give you your first gift at breakfast. I think he's even more excited about your birthday than you are," she added, stroking my hair.
"I can't wait until everyone comes," I said. "Aunt Trisha's still coming, right?"
"Oh yes, she called last night. And she said she's bringing you play programs and a lot of other theatrical souvenirs."
"I can't wait." I went to the closet and picked out a light blue skirt and button-down collar blouse with short sleeves.
"You'd better wear a sweater this morning. It's still a bit nippy," Mommy said. She joined me at the closet to look at my party dress again. "You're going to look so beautiful in this," she said, holding it out.
It was a pink silk strapless dress with a sweet-heart neckline and billowing skirt to be worn over layers of crinolines. I had had shoes dyed to match and would wear gloves, too. When I had first tried the dress on, I thought I looked foolish in it because of my small bosom, but Mommy surprised me by buying me an uplift bra. Even I was shocked by the effect. It took my breath away to see my breasts swell up to create a cleavage. My face reddened along with my chest and neck. Could I wear this? Would I dare?
"You're going to look so grown up," Mommy said and sighed. She turned to me. "My little girl now a little lady. Sooner than we think, you will graduate from high school and be off to college," she added, but she sounded melancholy.
"I want to do what Mr. Wittleman says, Mommy. I want to audition for Juilliard or maybe Sarah Bernhardt," I said and her smile faded. For some reason Mommy was afraid of my going to New York and didn't encourage me about it very much.
"There are a number of good performing arts schools outside of New York—several right here in Virginia, in fact."
"But Mommy, why shouldn't I want to go to New York?"
"New York is too big. You can get lost there."
"New York is where there is the most opportunity," I replied. "Mr. Wittleman says so, too."
She didn't argue. Instead, she took on this sad look, lowering her soft blue eyes and drooping her head. She was usually so bright and alive that whenever something made her mood grow dark, I felt a terrible foreboding and emptiness in my heart.
"Besides Mommy," I reminded her, "that's where you went to performing arts school, and that's where Aunt Trish went, and look at where she is now!"
"I know," she said, reluctantly admitting what I said was true. "I just can't help being afraid for you."
"I won't be much younger than you were when you took over all this responsibility at the hotel," I reminded her.
"Yes, honey, that's true, but responsibility was thrust on me. It wasn't something I wanted. I had no choice," she complained.
"Will you tell me all of it, Mommy? Why you left the Sarah Bernhardt School? Will you?"
"Soon," she promised.
"And will you finally tell me the truth about my real father? Will you?" I pursued. "I'm old enough to know it all now, Mommy."
She gazed at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. Then, that angelic smile came over her lips and she reached out to wipe some strands of my golden hair away from my forehead.
"Yes, Christie. Tonight, I will come to you in your room and tell you the truth," she promised.
"All of it?" I asked, nearly gasping. She took a deep breath and nodded.
"All of it," she said.
Daddy, as handsome as ever, was already at the table reading the newspaper when I came down to breakfast. Mommy had to go into Jefferson's room to help him hurry along. He would diddle-dawdle forever if he suddenly got interested in one of his toy trucks or trains while he brushed his teeth or combed his hair.
"Happy birthday, honey," Daddy said and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek when I sat down.
